


Pathetic

by HeyMurphy



Category: Metal Gear
Genre: Emetophilia, Hurt/Comfort, I'm Sorry, M/M, PWP without Porn, Self-Indulgent, Tranquilizers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-25
Updated: 2015-09-25
Packaged: 2018-04-23 08:58:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,710
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4870912
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HeyMurphy/pseuds/HeyMurphy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Just a quick onesie about Ocelot getting hit with a tranq and having a bad reaction.  Takes place during TPP but I couldn't tell you when.  I basically just wanted to write a spoiler-free self-indulgent mess of Ocelot being all sick with Boss there to help.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pathetic

Ocelot thought he’d been shot at first.  The pain was immediate and white-hot like a cigar put out on his skin.  His hand flew to his neck on instinct, hoping to quell the bleeding, and then he felt it.  A dart.  He scrambled behind cover and yanked it out, inspected the wicked little thing.  It seemed amateur, almost laughably so.  
  
Big Boss slipped in beside him a minute later.  “What was that?  Tranq dart?”  
  
“Mm.  Homemade, looks like.  You get the guy?”  
  
“Yeah.  He’s gonna take a nap for a while.”  
  
Ocelot frowned.  “You didn’t kill him?  He shot me.”  
  
“With a tranq.  You’ll live.  Drug resistance training, like you’ve told me before.”  
  
Ocelot supposed he was right.  Hell, Boss was always right.  “Fine.  Let’s just get the hell outta here already.  Call in Pequod.”  
  
Boss got on the radio to call for a helicopter pickup, muttering in his typical baritone.  Ocelot squeezed his eyes shut for a second and shook his head.  Couldn’t focus.  Couldn’t follow what Boss was saying, as if the words were blending together into another language.  And the air…did the air get thicker?  He felt as if he were breathing in slow motion.  
  
“Ocelot,” said Boss, snapping his fingers.  “Ocelot.”  Shaking sense into him.  
  
“Hmn?  Oh.  Boss.”    
  
“Are you all right?”  
  
“Of course, just a touch…uh…a little bit…”  He lost his train of thought halfway through.  Something was definitely going wrong.  He shook his head a second time, hoping to clear the cobwebs with no success.  “…the hell was in that tranq?”  
  
“You’re losing color.”  Boss grabbed Ocelot by the wrist and felt for a pulse.  “Heart rate’s slowing.”  
  
Ocelot didn’t understand.  He’d spent years undergoing proper drug resistance training, and keeping current was a personal hobby.  He thought nothing these desert soldiers could throw at him would be worth a damn.  But even as he thought this the muscles in his thighs started to tremble.  “Mmn…Boss, I…”  He tried to reach for Boss but stumbled backwards, tripping over his own legs, going down into the dirt.  The ground beneath him rippled and swayed, undulating like the ocean during a storm.    
  
Boss put arms around him and attempted to help him onto his feet.  “Steady, steady.  There we go.  You’re all right.”  

The soothing grumble in his ear forced heat into Ocelot’s face, and with it came an unwelcome wave of nausea.  Every inch of his skin broke out into a cold sweat as the sickly sour feeling settled in the pit of his stomach.  He gave a little hiccup, trying not to gag, and moaned into Boss’ camouflage.

“What is it?” Boss asked.  “What are you feeling?”

Ocelot swallowed down a thick mouthful of saliva, his breath shallow.  “I-I think I’m— _hgnk_ —”  He twisted away from Boss as best he could and heaved up his late breakfast into the sand.  Boss kept a firm grip on him as he continued to cough and sputter.

With a final awful retch he was done.  Shaking and dripping sweat, his body gave out.  Boss picked him up and carried him into the shade, propping him against a rock formation.  “You gonna be okay, you think?” he asked as he passed Ocelot his canteen.

“Yeah, jus’…need t’ rest.”  Ocelot’s fingers were too weak to unscrew the cap.  Boss did it for him and held it to his lips.  Water dribbled from his mouth and down his chin as he drank voraciously.  He couldn’t seem to make his tongue work properly.  His gums felt numb.

“That’s enough,” Boss said, taking the canteen back.  “You’ll just vomit it up.”

“M’fine…”

“Your speech is slurring.”

“Mmn…”

“Hey.”  Boss cupped his wet face in his hands and gave him a little smack with the hard metal prosthetic.  Ocelot barely registered the sting.  “You’re not gonna fall asleep on me.  Look at me.  Ocelot.  Look at me.”

It was so hard to make his eyes behave.  Ocelot wanted nothing more than to nod off, nestled safely against Boss’ chest.  The need to close his eyes was overwhelming, but the voice urging him into cognizance kept him awake.

“Good.  Stay here with me.  Don’t you go anywhere.”

Boss smelled like cigar smoke and damp earth and dried blood.  An intoxicating blend that Ocelot knew all too well, a scent remembered from his youth when first encountering the soldier.  Even now it snaked through his senses and bit at old longings, and whichever part of his brain was meant to quell those longings had apparently been tranquilized into placidity.

He lurched forward and gifted Boss with the sloppiest kiss the old man had ever experienced, even from that wolf pup.

A voice shouted from the walkie-talkies at their hips.  “This is Pequod.  Arriving shortly at LZ.”

Boss gingerly pushed Ocelot away from him, an effortless task as the tranq had finally done its job and put the man to sleep.  “Shit.  Ocelot, c’mon.”  He shook him, slapped him again but stronger.  Ocelot was out.

The distant whirring of helicopter blades rounded the mountains up behind them.  “This is Pequod.  I’ve arrived at LZ.”

Boss grunted.  “’Bout time.”  He hoisted Ocelot’s unconscious body across his shoulders and jogged the short distance to the predicted landing zone.  The helicopter lowered with a great billowing of sand and leaves and debris, and Boss clambered onboard with his precious cargo, laying him out on the back seat.

The pilot turned around.  “What happened, Boss?”

“Just get us to base ASAP, and radio in for a medical team to meet us.”

“You got it, Boss.”

Boss sat beside Ocelot’s head and tried not to worry about the pallor of his comrade’s skin or the beads of sweat still clinging to his brow.  In spite of himself, he crooked his fingers and held them gently against Ocelot’s throat at the jugular vein.  Couldn’t be too careful.  If Ocelot’s pulse slowed any further it might be dangerous.  Best to stay on top of it.

“Don’t die on me, you asshole.”

 

=+=

 

Ocelot woke to the overwhelming noise of the helicopter.  The beginnings of a migraine stabbed just behind his eyes and a warm, familiar hand rested on his neck.  He peered up.

“Boss…?”

The hand jumped and pulled away as if struck.  A bearded face stared down at him.  “You’ve been out for almost twenty minutes.”

“Wh-wha—?”  He tried to sit up but the roar of the chopper and the remnants of the tranq pounded in his skull and forced him to recline again.  What the hell had happened?  He remembered getting shot, remembered vomiting, remembered Boss’ canteen and then…

Nothing.  He hoped he hadn’t unknowingly embarrassed himself.  Or at least, more than he already had.  
  
Boss gave Ocelot’s forehead a light pat.  “Take it easy.  We’re still another twenty minutes out from base.”  
  
“Sure thing…”  
  
The faint sway and bob of the helicopter kept his stomach on edge.  He focused on taking long, even breaths, but that faint sensation of nausea sloshed in his gut.  His fingers contracted into fists around the material of his shirt and he bit the inside of his cheek.  Anything to divert his body’s attention away from the ceaseless churning.  
  
“Boss,” he gasped, “help me up…”  
  
Boss lifted him by the shoulders and got him to sit upright against the back of the seat.  “You look like you’re gonna puke again.”  
  
Ocelot threw a hand over his mouth, eyes wide, brow furrowed.  
  
Boss called to the pilot.  “Got any airsick bags on this thing?”  
  
“No one better even think of throwing up on my helicopter.”  
  
“That’s not gonna be an option in a second.”  
  
Ocelot took a shuddering breath in through his nose and whimpered.  His stomach clenched, pitching him forward, and then there was no stopping it.  Up came the water from Boss’ canteen.  It spurt out from between his gloved fingers, spilling over his trousers and boots and the metal flooring.  
  
A firm hand came to rest between his shoulder blades.  
  
Ocelot shook like a leaf.  His clothes stuck to him uncomfortably in awkward places, and the ends of his long hair were plastered to the nape of his neck with sweat.  A whining moan hissed out of him as if he were deflating.  It certainly felt that way.  
  
“You’re okay,” said Boss.  “I’d offer you more water, but, y’know.”  
  
Ocelot wiped his chin with his sleeve.  “No, no, it’s fine.  I just need… _mhn_ …”  He cradled his stomach, bending a bit at the middle.  Even just after vomiting, the nausea wouldn’t leave him alone.  “I just need to get…to get back to base…so I can run s-some— _uhggg_ —”  His abdominals tightened to an almost painful degree and he choked back a sob.  A dreadful sense of inevitability rushed through his system.  
  
Boss tried to comfort him at the exact wrong moment, and this time when Ocelot brought up the water it splattered across the soldier’s knees and ran down his dusty combat boots.  Ocelot choked and heaved until his face went red from the strain and he was spitting bile onto the floor.  His throat was raw, his eyes leaking.  He knew he must’ve looked a mess.  Humiliation settled deep into his bones.  Pathetic, vomiting on Boss like that.  Letting a tranquilizer get the better of him.  Getting shot in the first place.  So pathetic.  
  
Hands gathered his hair away from his neck, sweeping it back from his temples.  He sniffled and glanced sideways at Boss.  “B-Boss…”  
  
“It sure got awful long, huh.”  Boss’ voice was low and quiet, nearly intimate.  “That short hair never seemed to suit you, anyway.”  
  
Ocelot was sure he was blushing again.  
  
Fingers entwined in those graying blond locks, Boss coaxed Ocelot’s head onto his shoulder.  
  
“We’re almost there.  Close your eyes.  Try to relax until then.”  
  
Easier said than done, Ocelot knew, but at the same time he could feel the tense ache leaving his muscles.  His head reeled, but not from the nausea.  He buried his nose in Boss’ collar, taking in his heady scent, and let loose a contented groan.  
  
“Thanks, Boss…”  
  
“Sure.  Just do me a favor.”  
  
“Mm?”  
  
“Work on your kissing.  Being drugged is no excuse for that level of carelessness.”  
  
Ocelot’s eyes snapped open.  “Wait…what?”


End file.
